


Wear You Out

by Hella_Queer



Series: Let Me Borrow That Top [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Everyone lives but this ain’t about them, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, scent kink?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: His boyfriend would look good in just about anything, but Mike loves him most when he’s wearing his clothes.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Series: Let Me Borrow That Top [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793875
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74





	Wear You Out

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for “maybe not as explicit as I wanted it to be so I didn’t know what to mark it as” 
> 
> So begins my quest to fill up the bike tag. Shout out to Andy for being my rock and the amazing art that inspired this fic. Idk if they’d want their account linked bc it’s private but just trust me it’s chefs kiss
> 
> Also this is what the kids call un-beta’d so all mistakes belong to me 👍

His boyfriend would look good in just about anything, but Mike loves him most when he’s wearing his clothes. 

Bill shuffles into the kitchen with damp hair and sleepy eyes and not much else, legs bare where they appear underneath Mike’s wrinkly shirt. It’s blue, collared with four buttons at the top, loose three-quarters sleeves. Mike has worn it plenty of times: around the house, when running errands, working in the yard, that time Ben needed help unloading his haul from Home Depot. Nothing spectacular, but he thought Bill looked sexy wearing his old socks with the holes in the bottom so perhaps he wasn’t the best judge of character. 

Bill takes a seat at the table and regards Mike with a small smile, watching him load scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast onto a plate. 

“Is that for me?” He asks, voice soft and low, as if he’s propped up against the pillows in bed. Mike kisses the top of his head, then tilts his chin up to kiss him properly. 

“Extra crispy bacon, just how you like it.” Mike basks in the sunlight that is Bill’s grin, big and grateful and fond. He’s embarrassed to remember the time before this, when he was certain Bill was just being friendly because they had reopened all their wounds and almost lost two of their best friends. Turns out Bill was harboring a decades old crush, too. 

That’s like, five out of seven. No wonder they were drawn together, nobody else was this complicated and sappy. 

Mike fixes his own plate then sits across from Bill at the table. It had taken a little time for them to reach this point. While Bill waded through the social nightmare that was Hollywood during a divorce, Mike was debating if he really had any reason to leave Derry. It was the worst kind of Stockholm syndrome, and were it not for one Eddie Kaspbrak and his mighty lungs putting him through the wringer, affectionately, he would probably still be in that small, empty town. He hooks his foot around the back of Bill’s calf to ground himself, to remember that he’s here in their California home. Sharing small talk and warm smiles, with the knowledge that at the end of the day they wouldn’t be saying goodbye at the doorstep, but curling around each other under the covers. 

The shirt helps. He bought it on his road trip to the west, in some store in Texas, after they were finally able to put Derry behind them for good. Watching Bill lick syrup from his fork, well worn fabric pooling on his shoulders, eases the tension from his limbs. 

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Mike asks once their plates are empty and have been washed, dried and put away. Mike by himself was an organized person but when Bill had trouble writing he would use anything as an excuse to step away from the computer. 

“Today I get to drag myself through fleshing out the middle of the book.” Bill smiles, intentionally wide and uncomfortable. “Paula loved the first draft I sent her, but that was before I… added a few elements.”

“You didn’t tell her about the gay aliens?”

“I’m afraid it didn’t come up in conversation, no.” He sighs then stands, stretching his arms above his head. The hem of the shirt doesn’t even reach his hips. “Come check on me in a few hours?”

Mike pushes away from the sink and wraps his arms around Bill, pulling him close before kissing him slow. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch?”

Bill laughs, lightly pinching his sides. “We just had breakfast and you’re already thinking about lunch?”

“I’m thinking about taking care of you.” He sways them slightly from side to side, squeezing Bill a bit tighter to his chest. Sometimes when they hug he forgets to let go, or maybe the fear of him disappearing still lingers in his joints. “It’s a full time job, you know.”

Bill hums, tipping his chin up for another kiss. He’s the one who lingers this time, as if he can tell that Mike needs it. “Are you getting paid overtime?”

“No, but I am sleeping with the boss.” 

Mike sends Bill laughing down the hall to his study. If his fond gaze grows a little dark, if his eyes travel from fluffy, greying hair to bare skin, if he bites his lip and adjusts himself in his sweatpants, nobody knows but him. 

He checks on Bill twice before lunchtime, bringing him a fresh mug of coffee and offering feedback when asked to read one _very_ large paragraph. He’s been a fan of Bill’s since he started writing stories in notebooks, so maybe he’s a little biased, but Mike would love a generic greeting card if he found out Bill wrote it. He tries not to let his heart get in the way of professional criticism, but he kisses the lingering taste of sweetened coffee out of Bill’s mouth to soothe this latest round of creative roasting. 

To keep his hands occupied Mike heads upstairs to take care of the laundry while Bill chows down, and from the sound of his laughter, talks to one of the other Losers. His bet is on Bev, who has been very generous with her personal life in the group chat lately. 

They didn’t bother to separate their everyday clothes, which meant bigger loads of laundry each week, usually in batches of two or three depending on how long they waited. But when Mike goes into the closet where they keep their hampers he stops in his tracks. The basket is half on the floor, like a raccoon went dumpster diving in their cotton. He picks up a handful of denim and tries desperately to remember if things were neat and tidy when he got dressed this morning. Maybe Bill had lost another sticky note of ideas or….

Mike stares at the jeans in his hands, grass stains on the knees from when he was working in the yard earlier that week. The pants he wore along with a certain blue shirt. 

“There you are,” Bill says with a laugh. Mike turns and sees him in the doorway, an easy smile on his face. “Bev has been trying to call you. Do you still have that flash drive of pictures she gave you for the...”

Those pretty blue eyes take in the scene, and Mike has the pleasure of watching him blush all the way up to his hairline. Bill clears his throat and attempts to carry on the one sided conversation, but he hasn’t managed two full sentences in the time it takes for Mike to cross the room and wind his arms around his waist. Bill avoids his gaze, losing steam when Mike shuts the door with his foot. 

Bill once told him that kissing him made him nervous, and when Bill gets nervous his stutter returns with a vengeance. As annoying as it was for Bill, both growing up and now, post—alien clown decapitation, Mike always found it endearing. Those brilliant words were fighting to be spoken first and tripped over each other and got tangled like shoelaces. Mike could spend hours listening to him start and stop a dozen stories and he would never get impatient. 

As children Bill was their fearless leader, ready to tackle anything that tried to harm them. Now he squirms in Mike’s arms, getting redder by the second as Mike kisses his neck, trying hard not to laugh too hard, lest he lose his grip. 

“You are too cute, Big Bill.” He says as his arms lock around Bill’s waist. He imagines the safety railing of a rollercoaster locking into place. “I’ve got a drawer full of clothes, you didn’t have to go diving for this one shirt.”

Bill buries his face in Mike’s chest, shoulders slumping in defeat. He mumbles something into the fabric of his sweater, hands gripping tight to Mike’s hips. 

“Can’t hear you, love.” Mike can see the blush spreading to Bill’s ears, but he turns his face away so that his next words are clear. 

“Smelled like you.” He presses even closer, until Mike is certain he can feel his heartbeat through two layers of clothes. “Spent the morning on your side of the bed. Wanted to keep you with me all day.”

Mike’s heart gives a little lurch. He pulls back far enough to cradle Bill’s cheek, the skin of his face warm under his palm. Bill meets his gaze after another moment of gathering his courage, and suddenly Mike is the one who’s weak in the knees. Actions have always had a big impact on them, because so much of their lives were built around all the words they couldn’t say. So when Bill pulls him up down into a kiss there’s nothing to slow him down.

Mike let’s his body run on autopilot, barely noticing when they reach the bed. He only pulls away when Bill sits down heavily in surprise, a startled gasp followed by a laughing fit that makes it twice as hard to shuffle further up the bed. 

“Don’t think I’m forgetting to tease you about this,” Mike tells him, stripping down to nothing in no time flat. “You can only distract me for so long.” Even as he speaks Bill is proving him wrong. He’s enticing on his knees, shimming out of his boxers on his way to get the lube from the bedside table. Mike only comes to his senses when he starts to remove the shirt. 

Mike is on him faster than he ever thought he could move. He pulls Bill to the end of the bed by his ankle and manhandles him onto his back, until Bill is panting up at him, lips parted in surprise, body covered in goosebumps. 

“Leave it on.” 

Bill nods, lips forming around soundless words. Mike traces their shape as he opens him up, hovering over Bill like a solar eclipse. He’s tempted to get him off just like this, writhing on his fingers, but he isn’t close enough. He wants to give Bill everything, all of him, consume him so that they never have to be apart. He wants them to melt together like candles, until they blend into a new color, indistinguishable from who they were before. 

“You could’ve told me,” Mike says, teasing the head of his cock against Bill’s slick hole. “If you wanted me this badly.” They both groan as he presses inside, nice and slow but not stopping until there’s nothing left, until Bill reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together. 

“Always want you like this,” Bill sighs. Mike grinds forward like he can somehow bury himself deeper, like there’s more of him that Bill can take. 

Mike has gotten better about tamping down on his possessiveness but it’s hard not to feel a little smug when Bill is spread out underneath him like this, wearing his clothes and clawing at his arm, begging him. He thrusts slow and deep, heated gaze trailing down Bill’s sweaty forehead and flushed cheeks, his heaving chest and needy hands, all the way down to his neglected cock. Bill hasn’t made a move to touch himself despite all his whining, because he knows Mike will get him there. That combined with his artful attempts to get his hips off the bed has Mike finally giving him what he wants. 

Mike lifts his leg higher, over his arm instead of on his hip, and pulls out farther before slotting back into place. He lets himself go, let’s his body take over, mouth running with no direction, watching for whatever gets Bill hotter. 

“Maybe we should get you a plug,” Mike grunts, surprising the both of them, though he tries not to show it. “So you can really keep me with you all day.”

“Fuh—fuck!” Bill’s legs are shaking, even with Mike supporting them. He runs a shaky hand down his chest, grabs a fistful of wrinkled blue fabric just for something to hold onto. He throws his head back, and Mike folds over him to mouth at his neck. 

“Nobody would know you were hard under your little desk.” Mike says against his jaw. “I’ll fill you up before your meetings, send you out with my mark all over you.” Bill turns his head to the side invitingly, and Mike sinks his teeth into a spot high above where even a scarf couldn't cover. He soothes the pain with his tongue just to bite him again, lower, harder, until the left side of Bill’s neck is a mosaic of red and white, rose petals on snow. 

They've completely lost the rhythm now, rocking together, warm lips finding the nearest patches of skin. Mike feels the burn in his calves, he knows Bill will complain about his back in the morning, maybe even later tonight. There’s an inbox full of emails being ignored because Bill wanted him _right now_ , rifled through his dirty laundry just to _smell him_ on his skin and Mike is unraveling so fast he’s dizzy with it. 

“Maybe I’ll sit with you.” He’s so close, pure adrenaline pulling the words from this throat. “Put you in my lap, keep you on my–“

Bill breaks before he does, back arching in the sliver of space between their bodies. He comes untouched just like Mike knew he could, just like he wanted him to. He digs his fingers into Mike’s bicep, urging him on with slurred praise and wet kisses until Mike shudders hard enough to pop the bones in his shoulder blades. 

Mike more or less collapses on top of Bill, who welcomes him with open arms. Gentle hands stroke up and down his sweaty back, knead the back of his neck, dance down his spine. Mike can feel himself going boneless. 

“You alive up there?”

“Nope.”

Bill’s laugh shakes him, and after one last kiss he pushes himself up with his arms and pulls out, privately mourning their physical separation. He palms Bill’s thigh but is immediately swatted away. He looks up with a smirk and meets narrowed eyes and still flushed cheeks.

“Don’t even think about it,” Bill warns, slowly rising to his feet. “I left Bev on hold downstairs and I need to shower before I call her back.”

“Well if you’re already in trouble…” He trails after him to the master bathroom, hands on his waist, eager to bend him over the sink. They have rugs in there for a reason, he can handle sore knees for a few days. 

When they get out of the shower, the water close to running cold, Mike returns to the laundry, only to see that the sweater he left on the floor right next to the bed is gone. 

He has a pretty good idea of where it went.


End file.
